Inheritance
by the Scribe1
Summary: Conner's in high school, Angel's in trouble and Buffy's a corpse... right?
1. Commonplaces

Disclaimer: Disclaimers suck, and so, quite probably, do the people who write them. Wait. I'm wri  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimers are great. And so are the people who write them. And the people who read them. And everyone but Joss. And Cordelia.  
  
(*(* + ( = ()  
  
Distribution: You have but to ask.  
  
Notes: There isn't too much to say. I will tell you right now that this is a B/A fic. Don't you hate it when they leave you guessing? I'd much rather know ahead of time if the story I'm devoting a small (but nonetheless valuable) amount of my time to is gonna end up some lame-brained, Cordelia- is-God, deluded piece of trash. Then I can pass it by. And yes, I, a B/A devotee, just used the word deluded to describe the good ship Air Conditioner. That's right. It's true. Don't bother flaming.  
  
I'd say something disparaging about Spike, but he's just so damn funny I can only tsk-tsk and look the other way. He's a good character, just not the one for Buffy.  
  
This is set post "The Gift." Waaaaay post. But TG's the last episode that happened in my continuum. That makes Buffy dead.  
  
I'd date this story about…2016. That makes Conner 15 — ah. Yeah. So TG is the last BtVS episode in my continuum. AtS will run on its jaunty way till "Birthday." Without the cross-over that wasn't, obviously.  
  
  
  
1 Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
  
  
Part I: Commonplaces  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ahem!"  
  
Mrs. Henderson's sixth period English class turned to face a mop of dark hair that was flopped over a desk in the back of the room. The middle-aged teacher let out a long-suffering sigh. Everyone at Hemery High knew that fifteen year-old Conner Donovan— although extremely bright and perfectly well-mannered— was all but nocturnal. She rapped her knuckles on the faux- wood by his ear.  
  
"Mr. Donovan?"  
  
"Five more minutes, Cordy…" Conner muttered, shrugging away and turning his head to reveal a startlingly handsome face.  
  
The obligatory smattering of giggles and sarcastic comments hooted through the classroom. "Who's Cordy?" flew instantly in a suspicious whisper between three separate sets of best girlfriends.  
  
"MR. DONAVAN?"  
  
Suddenly, Conner jerked up straight, his eyes open wide and lips parted, as if gasping for consciousness. "I'm up!" he shouted, at last.  
  
The class burst into laughter again, and Mrs. Henderson returned to the front of the room and her lecture on Romantic Poets. Conner rubbed his deep blue eyes and sighed. He'd waited up till three the night before, hoping to catch his Dad before he went to bed so he could get a permission slip for next week's field trip signed. He'd finally given up when his Aunt Cordelia came home yawning something about how Angel was going to be cutting it close. Conner assumed that meant his father would come crashing in the huge double doors of the former hotel where they lived, bone tired from a long night's work, only a minute or two before Conner left for school. Sure enough, the Donovan men had bumped into each other on the threshold, knocking Conner's books to the floor. I never got an apology, he thought.  
  
He'd ended up forging the slip.  
  
But he was used to such things by now. It went with the territory when your Dad was a private eye.  
  
Shaking his head, he looked up to see a pretty brown-eyed girl watching him from across the aisle. He gave a little grin at which she smirked and looked away. Dale. One of his two best friends since kindergarten. She'd have lots to say about his exemplary study habits after class, he was sure.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"…and it took her THREE tries to get him up!" Dale Asher groaned, before biting down on a huge forkful of gluey cafeteria macaroni and cheese.  
  
"How can you EAT that?" asked Peter Brown, fascinated. He ran a grateful finger across the white paper of the salami and cheese hero he'd bought at the deli that morning.  
  
Dale's dark eyebrows bunched in the middle of her forehead, a sure sign that she was annoyed. "Were you even listening?"  
  
"Hey, Pete, guess what happened in English! You'll be shocked. YOUR best friend Conner drooled his way through half the period. Even Henderson noticed, and she NEVER catches anyone slacking off. He was just lolling on his desk, probably dreaming of that slut Stacy West—Head Cheerleader my ass—when she walked right down the aisle—Henderson, not West— staring venomous dragon-daggers into the back of his head, and it took her THREE tries to get him up!" he calmly quoted.  
  
"Okaaay. You were listening."  
  
Peter looked down at his sandwich. Silence, except for the standard white noise of cafeteria chaos.  
  
Finally, Dale let out a huge breath. "What?"  
  
"Nothing." Pete bit into his salami.  
  
"Something." Dale narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her slightly chubby friend. "Just say it."  
  
He swallowed. "Say what?"  
  
"Whatever you're thinking! C'mon!"  
  
He looked at her for a moment, debating. "What do you care what Conner was dreaming about?"  
  
Dale turned pink. With anger—of course.  
  
"I don't! Are you nuts? What—I mean, what are you suggesting?"  
  
"Yeah, Pete. What're you suggesting?" The two friends looked up, flustered, to see a grinning Conner. "Brown getting fresh again, Dale? You want I should rough him up a bit?"  
  
Dale's color slowly returned to normal. Her voice was only slightly off when she laughingly pronounced Peter a low-down, no-account, heart-breaking cad.  
  
"Yep, that's me," Pete quietly agreed. "Throwing the ladies out the window and beating them off with a stick."  
  
"That's the price we pay for being so devastatingly handsome," Conner crowed, hopping gracefully onto the bench next to him and throwing an arm around his shoulder as he casually grabbed half of the neatly packed hero and bit into it.  
  
Dale smiled indulgingly at him.  
  
"Would it kill you to make your own lunch for once?" asked Peter, shrugging his friend off with uncharacteristic impatience.  
  
"Sorry, man," Conner replied with raised eyebrows. "There wasn't any food in the fridge this morning and I was running late, so I didn't have time to grab anything."  
  
Peter sighed. "It's alright. I shouldn't have yelled. I know your Dad's allergic to food shopping."  
  
"And Cordelia's no better." Conner nodded. "I wish Aunt Fred still lived with us. She made the best tacos." His eyes got misty for a moment. "Well, she's making them for Uncle Gunn now."  
  
"By making, you mean driving to Taco Bell and picking up, right?" Dale asked, glibly.  
  
Conner leaned over and grabbed a soggy French fry off her tray, not noticing how she jerked away. "Of course. Isn't that how your Mom cooks?"  
  
"So. Did you guys hear we're getting a new student tomorrow?" Pete suddenly enquired.  
  
"A week before Holiday Break?" Dale said absently.  
  
"Freaky." Conner agreed, taking another bite of his friend's hero.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Angel woke with a start, jerking straight up in his red-satin sheeted bed. Even the best of us can't resist the clichés, he thought, running a jerky hand across the smooth surface, trying to block the dream out of his thoughts.  
  
It didn't work, of course.  
  
Neither did any of the other handy tricks of denial that had gotten him through the last fifteen years without thinking of . . . The Dream. Because there was no use remembering The Dream. The Dream was dead. And even if — it — wasn't, he could never have… The Dream. And he'd been pretty damn good about convincing himself of that for years. So why was it coming to him now?  
  
Frustrated, he flopped back down against his silky pillows, closing his eyes – Forget the Dream! – and trying to get some more sleep.  
  
Not happening.  
  
He rolled over with a mild curse and took a look at the digital clock on his nightstand. 1:30. Five Hours. He'd run on less sleep in much worse condition. And he didn't need to be at full strength. They'd wrapped up the business with those Vespa demons for good and all last night. He winced, feeling the half-healed but still sore punctures where a red-skinned, harpy- esque creature had sunk her poisoned talons into his right shoulder.  
  
"At least she missed the tattoo," he grumbled, getting out of bed. Conner would be home in an hour and a half, and it would probably be better if he got rid of his torn duster and blood-stained shirt before his son had a chance to see them. They hadn't spoken that morning, partly because Angel was so late, but mostly because he had almost fainted when they collided.  
  
He pulled on a white tank top, bundled the ruined clothing under his arm, and headed up to the lobby.  
  
"Cordelia!" he shouted automatically. "Can you take this out to the trash?"  
  
He braced himself for the indignant protests of his secretary and friend, then froze. It wasn't Cordelia who came to stand in the doorway of the main office. It was a trio men, the last three men he'd ever expected to see in one room again.  
  
  
  
To Be Continued….  
  
  
  
  
  
Notes: I based Conner's personality more after drunken-Irish-human Liam and catty-charming-vampire Angelus than broody- ancient-vamp + soul Angel, cause I don't think heartbroken misery is an inherited trait. No Darla, 'cept for the eyes. The kid's got enough to deal with. Donovan's a name I've seen in several other Angel fics (by sane, reliable B/Aers), and since I don't remember ever hearing a last name, I'll go with it. If there's a real one, please send it to me so I can replace it.(  
  
Send Feedback to TheTendoDojo@aol.com. Or I might be forced to do something drastic. Like start writing A/C fics.  
  
Alright. Ewwwwwww. So nothing that drastic. But something pretty bad! 


	2. Oddities

Disclaimer: I own everything. EVERYTHING. And I think Joss Whedon's a pansy- ass coward without the GUTS to sue me. In fact, I dare him to. Hear that, Wesleyan-boy? I DARE YOU. My name is Cordelia Chase, Los Angeles, CA. Call me and sue, if you're a MAN.  
  
Notes: Don't worry, I'm not really Cordelia. Were you wondering who that trio of intruders was? Did you even read Commonplaces? Ah, well. Check out those notes if you haven't already. And if you're still too lazy to go read them, you must be an A/C shipper. How quaint. Get out.  
  
Distribution: All I ask is that YOU ask.  
  
  
  
1 Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
  
  
1.1 Part II: Oddities  
  
  
  
"Long time, no see, Peaches," slurred the ratty old blanket that balanced on the arms of a pair of middle-aged, bespectacled men who were hovering in the doorway.  
  
"Wesley, Giles," Angel said blankly. The two visible guests hauled their burden into the dimly lit lobby and threw it not-so-gently onto a low red couch.  
  
The blanket grew an arm, which pulled it slowly down, revealing an impossibly white blond head and the blurred features of a very pale, and obviously intoxicated man.  
  
"Spike."  
  
"Nice place, G-ranpa," Spike spat in his sarcastic British accent at Angel. He reached down to snap his leg to a less sickening angle. "Broke it," he explained without looking up. "Or had it broken for me, rather." Neither Wesley nor Giles looked sorry at the glance he shot them.  
  
"We, erm, ran into him out front," Wesley said, with a hint of a smile.  
  
"Heh, sure they did. With a Buick. Who drives a bloody Buick anymore?" Spike muttered. "Got any whiskey, mate? I wouldn't say no to something redder…"  
  
"What brings you back to L.A.?" Angel turned to Wesley, with raised eyebrows. "I thought you needed time away, after…"  
  
The wedding.  
  
Wesley's cheek twitched.  
  
"Yes. I did—" He sighed. " I do. But something came up in England." He looked at Giles, who was hanging back, looking uncomfortable. "Something concerning The Council."  
  
Spike looked up. "What was that?"  
  
Giles cleared his throat. On closer inspection, Angel was shocked to see how old he looked. He couldn't be older than 60, which was nothing to a vampire, but the lines of suffering were deep around his eyes. That should be my face, Angel thought, out of nowhere.  
  
The Watcher spoke. "I think … this calls for tea."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Arghhh. I have SO MUCH HOMEWORK!" Dale shouted, scattering pigeons left and right.  
  
"Me, too," Conner and Pete chorused, dejectedly.  
  
"It's gonna be a long, looonely night," Conner said, shaking his head and shifting his bookbag onto his other shoulder.  
  
"Long, yes," Peter interjected. "Lonely, not necessarily."  
  
Dale rolled her eyes at the rising grin on Conner's face. "You don't mean…" she began.  
  
"Ohhhhh, yeeeeeah!" Conner yelled, turning to Peter and bashing fists. "It's that time again…"  
  
"Once in every semester," Peter continued in a deep voice. "There is a week so long…"  
  
"A course-load so unreasonable…"  
  
"And a boredom so profound that drastic steps must be taken."  
  
"This is that week."  
  
"PSYCHO SLEEPOVER!" they sang.  
  
Dale gave a long-suffering sigh. "You guys are so lame. We're not ten anymore, you know."  
  
"Then stay home," Conner breezed, walking away.  
  
"Whose house is it this time?" Dale sped up.  
  
"Well, not mine. My Mom still won't let Conner on the property," Peter joked.  
  
"Not MINE," Dale said quickly. "It was mine last time."  
  
Peter stared at her. He could've sworn that last time they'd stayed at—  
  
"My place." Conner shrugged easily. "That's cool. Ten to one my Dad never even notices we're there."  
  
Pete and Dale exchanged a glance, but decided to let it go. Conner had been their best friend from time immemorial, but there were some things he just didn't like to talk about. And if Conner Donovan didn't want to talk about something, no power on earth was gonna make him. He was stubborn that way.  
  
  
  
  
  
"That's impossible." That was all that Angel could say. He ignored the images that flashed into his mind. Golden hair, soft lips, warm breath— It was just a dream. Just a dream. "How could that be possible?"  
  
"Obviously," Spike interjected, downing his third cup of tea. "The nancy boys of the Wankers Council have screwed up, made a clerical error or something."  
  
"I don't think they would have contacted me for a … clerical error," Wesley insisted. "It's not as if we parted on the best of terms."  
  
"He's right," Giles asserted. "The Watcher's Council is by NO means infallible, but as far as identifying and tracking Slayers, they've never been wrong."  
  
"What about Buffy?" asked a calm voice from the doorway. Cordelia Chase sauntered into the lobby, placing a brown shopping bag with a couple of celery stalks sticking out of it onto the marble counter before she hopped up next to it. "She wasn't Called till like years after most Slayers are in full on training mode."  
  
"Cordelia," Wesley said, walking over to take her hands. "It's a pleasure to see you again."  
  
"I know," she smiled. "What's the Council done now?"  
  
"They've Called the next Slayer, it seems," Giles replied.  
  
"Wow, cause they've never done THAT before." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "So who's our next contestant?"  
  
"NOT who they think it is. Spike's right, it must be a mistake." Angel stood up and walked away, running both hands through his dark hair.  
  
"I told you, the Council doesn't make mistakes about things like this," Giles repeated.  
  
"Buffy," Cordelia coughed.  
  
"Buffy—" He cleared his throat again. "She wasn't a mistake. They knew she would be Called, but they were unable to implement her training because modern American parents don't just hand their children over to be sacrificed for an unknown sacred cause. It's simply not a part of this culture, or any other in the Western world.  
  
"There are some exceptions, of course. Faith, for instance, came from a very unstable family. There were no legal entanglements in retrieving her. Kendra came from a culture that accepted and revered the Slayer tradition. You recall how Joyce Summers reacted when she found out about her daughter's… extra-curricular activities. If she couldn't accept that destiny for her seventeen-year-old daughter, one can only imagine how she would have felt about the suggestion of taking her toddler away.  
  
"The Council had to wait until they could get Buffy's cooperation without parental interference. They were right then. I can only assume they are correct now. Impossible as it may seem…"  
  
"Are you sure," Angel asked quietly, his back turned to the group, staring at the darkly draped window. "Are you sure that you aren't just hoping they're right?"  
  
Giles jerked as if struck. The pain that was always traced in his tired features flashed hard and bright for a second. "Well, why the devil aren't you?" he hissed, before he could stop himself.  
  
Angel didn't turn. "I've hoped. I've dreamed… and I've hurt, Giles," he replied in an even voice. "But I've also accepted the fact that she isn't coming back. If it was going to happen, it would have by now. It's been fifteen years."  
  
There was a silence.  
  
"Wait—Are you talking about Buffy?" Cordelia asked suddenly, hopping off the counter. She glanced between the dark faces of the four men. "Oh, my God. You are! What, they think SHE's the next Slayer? In their stuffy little British dreams!"  
  
"What's wrong with Brits, eh?" Spike enquired, helping himself to Giles' untouched tea. "We ain't ALL stuffy, Love."  
  
"I know it sounds improbable," Wesley reasoned. "But stranger things have happened."  
  
"Stranger than what?" Conner asked.  
  
The five adults jumped simultaneously, and turned to the door.  
  
"I'm gonna get bloody whiplash," Spike mumbled.  
  
"Conner, you're….on time!" Cordelia said shrilly. Walking over to place her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, Peter. Hey, Dale. I just went on a food run!"  
  
Conner, Dale and Peter exchanged a look. Something was Going On. And they weren't about to be deterred by a load of Cordelia's rabbit food.  
  
"Uncle Wesley!" Conner cried cheerily, heading over to clap the Englishman on the back. "Who're your friends?"  
  
"This is Mr. Giles." Wesley pointed to the elder watcher. "And that is…"  
  
"I'm yer old Uncle Spike." The vampire grinned cheekily.  
  
Angel blanched. Cordelia gagged. Conner looked intrigued. " 'Uncle?' As in a real Uncle? Like a blood relative? Or 'Uncle' like how Cordy's my 'Aunt?'"  
  
"Oh, there's blood involved." Spike held out a cold hand.  
  
"Cool." Conner smiled. "I didn't think we had any actual family. So you're Dad's brother?"  
  
Neither Angel nor Spike looked pleased at the idea. They protested at the same time.  
  
"More like a cousin…"  
  
"A nephew of sorts…"  
  
"Long story." Cordelia paraphrased.  
  
Conner looked skeptical, but decided to use the momentary tension to his advantage. "So, I told Peter and Dale they could sleep over. I didn't think we'd have company, since we never do. Is that okay?"  
  
"Sure," Cordy said.  
  
"Fine," Angel agreed, reaching for his wallet. "Why don't you guys go rent a movie and buy some popcorn and snacks. Then we can finish up here."  
  
Conner looked at the hundred dollar bill his father had handed him with raised eyebrows. One look at his friends decided it. They threw their books onto the couch next to Spike and flew out the door before Angel could come to his senses.  
  
  
  
To be Continued…  
  
  
  
Notes: Hooray for part two! Buffy actually got named in this one! That's progress, people! Maybe she'll turn up by the end of the story. But then, the end is a looooooooong ways away. Well, keep reading and send feedback to TheTendoDojo@aol.com. I'm waiting. Don't add to my inferiority complex! 


	3. Summer

Disclaimer: No own, no cash, no sue.  
  
Notes: What is there to say after three parts? I didn't have that much for the first. I guess I'll use this opportunity to send billions of good vibes to Andrea, who is quite probably the most kick-ass beta reader in all of Buffydom.  
  
Also, thank you so much everyone who reviewed. I luva you all.  
  
  
  
And, once again, I'm giving all A/C fans notice to go to hell, or one of your own people's stories (like there's a difference), cause there's no place for ya here.  
  
Distribution: ASK.  
  
1  
  
2 Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
  
  
2.1 Part III: Summer  
  
"So, do you think he's really your uncle?" Dale asked over a huge hot fudge sundae.  
  
"No way," Conner said thoughtfully, picking up a yellow sprinkle and examining it carefully before he popped it into his mouth. "Dad's from Ireland, I can't see his relatives having Cockney accents."  
  
"Maybe he's from your Mom's side," Peter suggested, throwing a spoon into his empty dish. "Where was she from?"  
  
"No clue. But if he was from her family, why wouldn't they have just said so?"  
  
"Then who is he?" Dale asked. They pondered that silently for a moment.  
  
"There was another guy, too. I forgot about him when Spike—that can't be his real name—started talking about blood and everything." Conner bit the tip of his cold spoon.  
  
"He was kinda old," Dale suggested.  
  
"Reminded me of Wesley, a little," Peter added.  
  
"I didn't hear him speak, do you think he was English, too?" Dale wondered.  
  
Conner wasn't listening, though. His dark eyebrows had skidded into a V.  
  
"Maybe he was WESLEY'S uncle!" Peter joked. "That's all you need, Conn, two proper Brits frowning at your slang. 'Wig is NOT a verb.' I don't envy you, man. At least 'Uncle' Spike doesn't seem that particular. Right, Conn? Conner? "  
  
"Why can't he just tell me stuff?" Conner burst out suddenly, pushing his barely, touched sundae away. "I'm not a little kid; I can handle whatever mystical secrets Angel Investigators is brooding over. I bet you anything that Giles guy's some rich lawyer, wanting Dad to tail his over-coiffed wife around Rodeo Drive so he can catch her with her lover.  
  
"He could have said so; I would have left. But noooo. He's gotta be all cryptic PI. Like I don't know that his job's totally mundane. This isn't The Maltese Falcon. Private Detectives are just really underpaid gossip mongers with sucky hours. The name sounds cool, but that's it."  
  
Peter and Dale looked away, embarrassed. They weren't used to Conner expressing his feelings. In all honesty, they didn't know what to say.  
  
  
  
  
  
"There's no use in arguing anymore, it's not getting us anywhere!" Wesley yelled, finally, pressing the heels of his hands firmly against his throbbing temples.  
  
"You're right, there is no use," Angel agreed "The Council can't Call a dead Slayer. That's all there is to it."  
  
Giles opened his mouth, angrily.  
  
"Don't." Cordelia held up both hands, shooting Angel a Look. She turned to Wesley. "Let's forget the Buffy part of this for a second."  
  
"Buffy, now SSSSHE was a looker." Spike hiccupped, before passing out over his thirteenth cup of tea.  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Why did the Council contact you, Wesley? And why are you in L.A.?"  
  
"They called me because I was Buffy's last official Watcher," Wesley explained. "And I'm in Los Angeles because the Council says that… this is where she is."  
  
Angel closed his eyes.  
  
"What do they expect us to do?" he asked, wearily.  
  
"Find her," Giles replied.  
  
  
  
  
  
"We're home!" Conner called to an empty lobby, an hour later. He and his friends placed their shopping bags on the counter. A hundred dollars will go a long way if you know where to shop. "Hello?"  
  
A tortured groan rose from the couch.  
  
"Give me Jack any day," Spike grumbled. "Least it numbs yer brain for a while."  
  
"Oh." Conner walked over to the vampire. "Hey, uh, 'Uncle Spike', have you seen my Dad around?"  
  
"That lot." Spike made a face. "Headed off to some joint called the Caritas, said they needed to see bout a 'contact.'" He grunted. "Didn't ask me along, now, did they? Noooo. Cause Spike's a bloody babysitter." He rolled casually onto the floor, out of view, then pulled himself up by the worn red cushion so his eyes just peeked up at them. "So, anyone for Poker, then?"  
  
Dale backed up. "Okaaaay. House to ourselves."  
  
"What?" Conner asked, abstractedly.  
  
Peter looked worriedly at his friend. "I'm sure they'll be home soon, Conn. They probably thought we'd be home later. Maybe the c-note wasn't a mistake. Your Dad probably—"  
  
Conner shook his head, a mischievous glint sparkling in his blue eyes. "I ask again. What did you say, Dale?"  
  
"House to ourselves?" she guessed.  
  
"You see that's what I thought." He turned to face them with an arched eyebrow. "And what do teenagers do when they're left in an awesomely large building without adult supervision?"  
  
"Hey!" Spike protested. "I'm an adult!"  
  
But the trio had already got his measure too well. Dale let out a huge sigh, and Peter looked torn between worry and excitement.  
  
"Do you mean we should…." Peter began. But he stopped when Conner's face fell.  
  
Dale went pink. "We are not doing that again," she interjected.  
  
"Forget it," muttered Conner. "We're back in the land of parental control. Man, this day keeps getting worse and worse."  
  
The front doors opened to reveal the tired members of Angel Investigators, and a slightly sloshed Rupert Giles.  
  
"Hi, guys," Angel greeted, with a weak smile. "What video did you rent?"  
  
Conner shrugged. "Oh. We forgot. We've gotta do our homework, anyway."  
  
"Oh. Alright," Angel agreed, watching the kids grab there bags and leave. "Wait, where's my twenty bucks, then?"  
  
"Twenty?" Dale asked. They sped up.  
  
  
  
"Good morning, class," Mr. Miller said cheerily, with a little bounce that made his comb-over wiggle. "I've got a special treat for you all today. Not a pop-quiz on Mitosis." He paused for chuckles, and mistook the groans he got for them. "Although if you're all good little boys and girls I might get to that before Christmas." He winked cheekily. "But seriously, I am so very, very, VERY pleased to tell you that our class will be receiving a new addition in… well, just about any minute!"  
  
Conner dozed off immediately, and Dale busied herself in trying to wake him up before the teacher noticed. Peter was watching them with half an eye, but listening to Miller's speech at the same time. He'd heard about the new girl, and was actually intrigued. Rumor had it that she was really rich and really pretty, the daughter of a senatorial candidate. She could be entertaining, he thought, if not interesting.  
  
"…Principal Deal told me just yesterday that a lovely new sophomore girl has transferred to Hemery, and I said Gosh-Darn-It! If she isn't in my first period Bio class, I just don't know what I'll do! So he said… Oh! Look! There she is now; that must be her, because I know every face in Hemery. Welcome!"  
  
The door opened to reveal the young and handsome principal Deal, who led in the new girl by the arm. The side conversations that had erupted when Miller started talking faded into hushed whispers and Dale accidentally dropped the textbook she had been pretending to beat over Conner's head. It bounced off his forehead, of course, but it did finally wake him up.  
  
"Dammit!" He yelled, jerking his head up and breaking the silence. Everyone turned to look at him. He flushed red and rubbed his head, then shot an apologetic glance to the front of the room, expecting to see his scandalized teacher. But he froze as his gaze met the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen.  
  
Principal Deal cleared his throat.  
  
"Thank you for your attempt at hospitality, Mr. Donovan," he said with the fake cordiality of a school administrator. "You can work on it later, in Detention."  
  
Conner didn't even hear the words. He had suddenly discovered that the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen were located over the most perfect nose in existence.  
  
"I'm very sorry, Miss Billings," the principal continued, placing a friendly hand on the new girl's shoulder. "Class, this is Summer Anne Billings, Hemery High's newest addition. I trust you'll welcome her with warmth…" He turned his eyes on Conner. "And respect."  
  
  
  
To Be Continued….  
  
  
  
  
  
Notes: Hmmmm. Shall I grovel for feedback? TheTendoDojo@aol.com. If you didn't like it, tell me how to make it better. Peace! ( 


	4. Heredity

Disclaimer: Joss, Joss, whatever…  
  
Notes: A/C shippers shall be prosecuted. No joke. (And Spike 'n Dru do the prosecuting…)  
  
I know, I know. It seems excessive. All these threats to A/C fans in every part. But you have to understand just how truly STUPID these people are. You gotta smack them fifty, sixty times before they remember to say Ow. Look who their idol is.  
  
Thanks, Andrea, as always. DBD for invaluable advice. And everyone who keeps sending such lovely reviews. That's it. ( These just get shorter every time.  
  
Distribution: I'm easy. Ask and I'll say yes.  
  
1  
  
2 Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
2.1 Part IV: Heredity  
  
  
  
The bell rang for lunch.  
  
"Conner?" Dale asked, waving a hand in front of his face.  
  
"Conn." She tugged impatiently on his arm.  
  
"CON-NER DONAVAN, WAKE THE HELL UP!"  
  
"Huh?" Conner turned dazed eyes on her. "Oh, Dale." He blinked. "I wasn't sleeping."  
  
"Could've fooled me." She looked closer at him. "Are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird all day."  
  
"Weird, what do you mean? I feel…wonderful." With that absent reply, he prepared to float back to more pleasant speculations.  
  
"I mean, like chilling in that chair after old Henderson herself went off to lunch." She felt his forehead with real concern.  
  
"Mmmmmmm? Lunch. Sure….." Suddenly his head shot up. "Lunch!"  
  
Dale watched in amazement as he flew out the door. "That kid just keeps getting weirder," she sighed, grabbing his books and hers and heading for the cafeteria.  
  
  
  
Summer gripped her tray a little harder. The flocks of strange faces just seemed to fly by so fast, she had no time to register any. She looked took a tentative step forward from the lunch line, scanning the huge, large- windowed cafeteria. Her eyes passed from table to table, but they were all occupied by foreign cliques, old jokes and best friends.  
  
There's nothing like starting a new school to put your ego in perspective, she thought cynically. If they could only see the queen of St. Boniface's now. A laughing couple pushed past her, knocking her Jell-o off her tray and onto her shoes. So much for lunch. That looked like the only edible part. She threw the rest of her food into the nearest garbage can and headed past the screaming masses towards the nearest exit. These are eighty dollar shoes. I gotta find a bathroom or Mom'll kill me. She pounded the metal door open with more force than necessary.  
  
THUD.  
  
"Ow," said a small, mewling voice.  
  
"Oh my God!" Summer cried, hastily pulling the door back to reveal the tall handsome boy who had gotten detention in her Biology class. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry!"  
  
"Will you look where you… Summer!" Conner sputtered, pulling his hand down from his examination of the new bump on his head and standing up straight. "Yeah, I'm… uh…"  
  
"Hey, Conn, are you okay?!" Dale sprinted down the hallway, interrupting his unusually inarticulate speech.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he insisted, two spots of red forming on his upper cheeks as his friend stood on tip-toes to check out his forehead. "Quit it, Dale!" he added under his breath.  
  
She ignored him, and Summer looked on, half amused and half awkward at yet another display of familiarity she was left out of. She tossed her silky blonde hair over her shoulder.  
  
"I'm really sorry." She said again. "I guess I should probably…"  
  
"Go?" Conner said dumbly, pausing with Dale's wrists in his hands.  
  
Summer winced slightly and turned around.  
  
"Huh? Conner, what's the matter with you!" Dale scolded, breaking free. "God, you have the manners of a cocker spaniel. I'm Dale," she said to Summer, holding out her hand. "And that is Conner. Did you eat yet? You can sit with us. It'd be nice not to be outnumbered by y-chromosomes for once."  
  
Summer flushed, giving her mother's shoes a last, flickering thought. "I'd like that." She smiled. They were ruined by now, anyway.  
  
The girls headed back into the cafeteria, Dale in the lead, chatting up a storm. Neither one noticed the dopey smile Conner wore as he followed them in, or the fact that he ran right into a pillar, earning his third lump of the day.  
  
  
  
"Alright, wring out the hankies, Gunn has finally returned," announced that radiantly smiling man as he practically skipped down the steps that led to the Hyperion Hotel's lobby. His thin, pretty wife followed him, almost timidly. As if it were a strange place she was entering, rather than her former home.  
  
"Angel? Cordy?" she called, just as Wesley emerged from the inner office.  
  
"Wes! My man!" Gunn scooped his British friend off his feet in an enthusiastic hug. Wesley backed off, nonplussed, as soon as he regained his footing.  
  
"Gunn…Fred. You're looking…well," he stammered awkwardly, concentrating on pulling off his glasses and wiping them vigorously.  
  
The newlyweds exchanged a look.  
  
"I thought you were in England," Fred said carefully, tilting her head.  
  
"Yes, well, something came up…" The importance of the reason for his return speedily replaced his uncomfortable thoughts about what had driven him away. "Something quite urgent, actually." He turned and headed for his office. "This could take a while, come in and sit down, we were just doing some research."  
  
They followed him to the doorway, but stopped before crossing the threshold.  
  
"I don't believe either of you have met Mr. Giles," he added at the couple's curious looks.  
  
This announcement, of course, sparked even curiouser looks. They didn't even hear Wesley introduce them as Charles and Fred Gunn, a pairing of names that would have pleased them, as it was the first time they had been introduced since their marriage.  
  
"Wait. Giles? As in Sunnydale Giles?" Gunn wondered as Fred gaped at the older man. "When you say urgent, you mean it, man."  
  
Wesley nodded and gestured them to the only two chairs that weren't covered with stacks of ancient tomes.  
  
They sat down heavily, ready to be embroiled in the complicated world of Angel Investigators and resume their everyday lives. The honeymoon was over.  
  
  
  
  
  
Angel tapped his fingers on the hard marble of the deserted Caritas' bar.  
  
"Back so soon?" Lorne asked, a glitzy smile on his green face as he strolled out from the back room, brushing invisible dust from his impeccable suit. "I never figured you for a morning drinker, Pal. Never figured you for a morning ANYTHING, really."  
  
Angel stopped tapping, curling his fingers gently into a loose fist.  
  
"I told you last night, I don't know anything about a Slayer in L.A." Lorne said, nervously. He scrunched his forehead, hurt. "I'm not Willy the Snitch, you know. I don't lie to my friends."  
  
"I know. I didn't… I wasn't….." Angel sighed. "Do you think it's possible?"  
  
Lorne looked him for a moment. Without a word he crossed behind the bar and pulled out a long, amber bottle and two shot glasses.  
  
"Yes." He said, filling one to the very brim and sliding it carefully in front of the vampire. "I think it's possible."  
  
Angel gripped his fist tighter, ignoring the drink. "So do I," he whispered. "God help me."  
  
Lorne poured himself a drink. "Isn't that a good thing? Love of your life returning from the dead…. Hmmm. Forgive me if I don't see how you need divine protection from that one."  
  
Angel was silent, so Lorne went on. "I mean, When I think of how you were when she died…" Angel winced. "Look, you still can't even hear the words without flinching. When you left for Sri Lanka, the only thing on your mind was finding a way to get her back. Yes, I know about that. The others may have bought your 'I must grieve alone' line, but I've been around the block. The demon monks of Shan Chi are legendary for their research on life and death. "  
  
Angel opened his mouth to explain.  
  
Lorne held up a well-manicured hand. "Not blaming you. But if you wanted her back desperately enough to trek halfway around the world and spend three months with a gang of militant monks who don't believe in deodorant, I don't see why you're not jumping for joy right now. You still want her back, don't you?"  
  
"Of course!" Angel yelled, standing up. He paced along the waxed floor. "Of course I want her back! I can safely say that there is nothing in this life that I want more than to have her back in it. Even if it's only back in China or Rio or Sunnydale where I can never see her…. or touch her. Even if she comes back hating me! Even if she comes back, walks right up to me and sticks a stake in my heart; I want her to be alive I would give anything. ANYTHING—  
  
"But there's so many questions. HOW, after all these years of pain and missing her and trying to find a way to get through the day without her, how can she just be back? Who brought her back? How long has she BEEN back? WHERE has she been? Where is she now? Is she alright? Is she the same? Does she remember…. Why hasn't she tried to contact anyone? Why are we finding out NOW? What does it mean? What price will we have to—"  
  
Lorne downed his drink. "Whoa! Slow down! Jeez man, when you open up, you really open up.  
  
"I can't answer all those questions. First of all, we don't KNOW that she's back. I said I believe it's possible for her to be back. So we may never have to worry about some of those issues. But I think your main questions— the ones you left out with all your Who's and How's and Why's— are One: Will she love you? and Two: Will she forgive you?"  
  
Angel closed his eyes and slouched back onto a stool, halfway across the bar. "Will she?"  
  
Lorne slid Angel's drink down to him. "Would you love and forgive her, if things were reversed?"  
  
Angel lifted the shot glass and gave Lorne a scornful look. "Of course."  
  
  
  
Conner floated up the steps of the Hyperion at five o'clock.  
  
His father and 'aunts' and 'uncles' and Mr. Giles all turned to greet him.  
  
"Conner! We've got pizza! Conner?"  
  
The teenager strolled by, oblivious to Gunn, and swept up the stairs to his bedroom. Humming.  
  
The adults exchanged a look.  
  
"Possession?" Fred suggested.  
  
"Amateur witchcraft gone terribly wrong." Cordelia corrected, decisively.  
  
"Drugs?" Gunn wriggled under the slew of skeptical gazes. "What? It has to be something freaky?"  
  
"I think I know what it is." All eyes turned to Angel. "It looks like love to me."  
  
No one argued with him. If anyone knew what love looked like, it was Angel.  
  
To Be Continued…..  
  
Notes: AH. That took a long time. I have NOT abandoned this fic. I DO know where I'm going with it. There WILL be a villain in the next part. Or two….. Please send feedback to thetendodojo@aol.com. Please? 


	5. Backstory

Disclaimer: At this point, I don't even WANT credit anymore.  
  
Notes: Please don't kill me!  
  
Yes. I know, I know. I haven't updated in donkey years. It's not my fault! I've had homework and papers and projects and the shows have been sucking and my horoscope was bad and a butterfly beat its wing in Texas and-  
  
Screw it. I'm not gonna make excuses. I'll try to update more.  
  
As always, A/C fans should run for their lives, because if I find one of your filthy, perverted, self-righteous asses reading MY story-  
  
Wow. I've gotta censor everything I write today, don't I?  
  
Still PG-13. Enjoy!  
  
Distribution: My story! You ask, you get.  
  
Inheritance: Backstory By Myopic  
  
"So Conner's in love." Wesley smiled and shook his head over the peach ceramic coffee mug that Fred had filled with peppermint tea. The teenager in question had just left for school, only giving the returning newlyweds an absent kiss before practically running out the front door.  
  
"I've never seen him that eager to get to school before," Gunn noted with amusement. "Think we should kidnap this girl of his and stick her in the dentist's office? Then maybe we won't have to trick him into going tomorrow."  
  
This brought a sudden curse from behind the front desk. Cordelia blew out a frustrated breath and picked up the telephone, dialing a number with a quick flash of lacquered nails.  
  
"Dr. Sevit's office? I'm calling to confirm an appointment for a check up for Conner Donovan. C-O-N-N-E-R. D- No. 'D' as in Dentist."  
  
Wesley, Gunn and Fred shook their heads in unanimous exasperation.  
  
"I remember my first love," Fred sighed after a minute. "I was older, though. Seventeen. Kids do everything so early these days. Remember when Conner was ten and we took him to see Star Wars: Episode Nine? He had to explain that when the one man made fun of that thing it was really a comment on alcohol? I didn't pick that up at all. But his name was Jed and he was the most beautiful guy in my high school, in I thought the world. And I would do his math homework for him every day at lunch and give it to him in the back hallway so no one would see us together. He would smile at me and I would just-"  
  
Gunn gave her a look as she trailed off. "Jed, huh? Sounds like a total tool to me."  
  
Fred looked scandalized. "He was very nice to me!"  
  
Wesley looked uncomfortably from one to the other.  
  
".and thank you so much, have a great day!" Cordelia finished with a bright artificial smile as she hung up the phone. She opened up a drawer and pulled out a bright pink Post-it pad, writing the time of the appointment in large Sharpie letters. Sticking the note on the coffee maker, she called over her shoulder. "Somebody remind me to remind him, okay!"  
  
"Uh, Oh course, Cordelia," Wesley replied loudly, taking the opportunity to disappear into his office. "I'll just get back to that research. Send Mr. Giles in when he comes by."  
  
"All right." Cordelia dug into a pile of memos to determine which cases they would have to stall so they could aid in the search for the new Slayer. "I don't know HOW we're going to find her. I mean, if Buffy's been reincarnated, then she'll look like someone else. How will we know it's her? She could be a brunette, or a red head, or fat." Cordelia's face took on a dreamlike quality. "She could have like a really bad acne problem, or a flat chest, or a unibrow.."  
  
Gunn smiled. "I take it you're not much of a fan of the late great Miss Summers?"  
  
Cordelia snorted. "Hardly."  
  
"But I thought you two were friends. Didn't you go to high school together?" Fred asked confusedly.  
  
"Wow, did you two get a sketchy history on this one. How much about Buffy do you NOT know?"  
  
"We hardly know anything, Cordelia. How would we?" Gunn said defensively. "We never met the girl and she's not exactly the most common topic of conversation around here. First time I heard her name was when we found out she was dead and then all the information we got was that she was a Slayer and Angel's ex, who he couldn't be with and never got over and that you went to high school with her."  
  
"Well, that's the basics, but it doesn't say much. How did I not give you the buzz on that whole soap opera years ago? That's what you get for living the life of a hero. You're so busy you lose your gossip skills." She settled back more comfortably in her desk chair. "Sit down. This is a long story and I promise you'll be as thoroughly sick of it as everyone else remotely involved before it's done."  
  
Fred and Gunn looked at each other, shrugged, and pulled up chairs.  
  
"It all began. um. When did it begin? The first thing I had to do with it was when I met Buffy, I guess. She was the new girl at our school and I totally extended the hand of friendship, only to be rudely rebuffed for absolutely no reason." Her brown eyes narrowed at the memory. "Not that I know where SHE got off, the only reason she moved to Sunnydale at all was because she was expelled from her old high school for pyromania."  
  
"Pyromania?" Fred echoed, shocked. This was clearly not the beginning she had been expecting for a love story so powerful that the people involved had never perceived the need to relate the details to their new friends, as if it was so sacred and powerful that it needed no introduction.  
  
"Remember how Conner told us that a student burned down his school's gym twenty years ago? That was Buffy. Of course, she did it to kill a couple dozen vampires, including the really nasty one that killed her first Watcher," she added grudgingly. "But how was the Sunnydale High student body supposed to know that?  
  
"Anyway, she came to our school and started hanging out with the two biggest losers in town: Xander Harris." She spat the name. "And Willow Rosenberg. I guess she went about her Slaying all this time, she spent all her time in the library with Giles. He was the school librarian. I was the most popular girl in school, though. I didn't associate with them more than I had to. At the time all I knew was that whenever anything freaky happened, Buffy was around somewhere. She met Angel really soon after she moved to Sunnydale. I never got the exact story of where or how, but I know that he would show up and help her when she needed it, that he hung around the Bronze a lot - the Bronze was like the only decent club in town - oh, and he staked Darla for trying to kill her."  
  
"HE killed Darla the first time?" Fred interrupted.  
  
"Yes, that's what I said," Cordelia responded, testily. "Stop interrupting.  
  
"Where was I? Oh, right. Helped her, staked Darla, and they were in love, obviously. Again, I really didn't get involved until the end of that school year, when Buffy died and averted the apocalypse the first time. Yes," she said before Fred could open her mouth. "The first time.  
  
"I think her tally was two deaths, a dozen apocalypses and way more vampires and demons than I even want to think about by the time she went down for good. Or what we thought was good. Well, not GOOD good, but final. Whatever. It doesn't matter. This guy called the Master, who was Angel's grandsire, was trapped in the Hellmouth, which I KNOW someone has to have explained to you sometime." She waited for their nods and continued. "And he decided to make a break for it on the night of a school dance. There were vampires everywhere and at some point the Master drank Buffy's blood and killed her, but Angel and Xander found her and Xander gave her CPR, which I'll bet was SUCH a hardship for him, what with the HUGE crush he had on her and everything, the stupid, lying loser."  
  
Gunn gave Fred a look.  
  
"Buffy came to and killed the master in time to dance with Angel, and that was the end of it for a while. She left town for the summer, came back and the two of them picked things up where they left off pretty much. La de da, things went on. Vampires were killed, lives were saved. Then Buffy had a birthday. And Angel gave her the gift that gives back."  
  
The others stared blankly at her.  
  
"They had sex." Cordelia elaborated, rolling her eyes. It was not an image she wanted in her head.  
  
Understanding dawned, followed quickly by more confusion. "But what about his curse?" Fred asked.  
  
"How do you think we found out about it? That was the first time we met Angelus." Her eyes darkened at the memory. "It was bad. You don't know HOW bad. He stalked Buffy and terrorized her for months and months. He threatened her friends and family - which for some reason included me - and tormented her and. and finally he killed someone. A teacher. Giles' girlfriend. Her name was Ms. Calendar. She was from the gypsies that cursed Angel the first time, and she was getting ready to do it again when Angelus killed her. It was. pretty awful. After that Angelus turned his attention to destroying the world. He almost did it, too. Got closer than probably anyone but the god who Buffy fought. The portal to hell was actually open when Willow re-cursed him - Oh! Willow's a witch - and Buffy stabbed him and sent him through it. He went to a hell dimension for the earth equivalent of three hundred years." Cordelia's voice stayed matter of fact, but her eyes flashed with compassion. Fred's face had turned gray, and even Gunn looked a bit unnerved. Three hundred years was a long time, even for a vampire.  
  
"How old was she, again?" Thus time it was Gunn who asked the question.  
  
"Seventeen." Cordelia paused.  
  
"She had a hard time dealing with it, and she didn't exactly take the smartest road to recovery. She ran away from home for a few months. No word to her friends or Giles or even her mom. We had to cover graveyard patrol till she came back. Ruined my social life for the summer. But she didn't think about THAT, did she? Nope, it's always me me me with Buffy. Because she's the CHOSEN one.  
  
"Finally she decided to come home, started dating some other random guy, until somehow Angel came back. He was totally crazy from being in hell, but eventually he recovered and he and Buffy decided to be 'just friends.'" She snorted. "That didn't work out. They ended up avoiding each other, dating again, then he broke up with her again right before prom. He decided he wanted her to have a better life, he didn't deserve her, blah blah. Then he got shot with a poison arrow by Faith, who was basically Buffy's evil twin and is currently enjoying life in a maximum security correctional facility, courtesy of the California taxpayers. The only cure for the poison was Slayer's blood, so he drank Buffy's and put her in the hospital. She was all right in time to prevent the next apocalypse at Graduation the next day, but that was why he moved to L.A. He figured the more distance he put between them the better. It's a good philosophy. I've always been a firm believer in staying as far away from Buffy Summers as I possibly can. That was pretty much it, I suppose. Except for a few nasty cameos where she rubbed salt into his broken heart. She started going out with college boys, and he never stopped loving her. They both fought evil for a few more years, then she died. The End."  
  
"Not the end," said Rupert Giles throatily, moving from his place in the doorway. "I've brought some donuts. We always seemed to need them when researching in Sunnydale." He laid a large box on the reception desk and passed into Wesley's office, leaving silence behind him.  
  
  
  
"Summer! Over here!" Dale half stood at her cafeteria table, waving her new friend over.  
  
The blonde smiled warmly and headed over, taking the empty space between Dale and Peter on the formica bench. It was good to have friends, she thought. Especially ones who live around the corner from a deli, she added as Peter produced a second neatly wrapped sandwich from his brown paper deli bag, waving away the money she proffered.  
  
"Hey! You never bring ME a lunch, Peter!" Conner exclaimed, plopping down on the empty bench across the table. "Why does Summer get one?"  
  
"Maybe because Summer doesn't call me Peter after I've asked her not to one million times Conner," suggested Pete, taking a bite from his sandwich. "So you've regained your verbal skills since yesterday?"  
  
Conner turned pink. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, shooting a glance at Summer.  
  
"So you forgot your lunch AGAIN?" Dale scolded, changing the subject. "Didn't Cordelia go shopping yesterday?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm not hungry anyway," he said distractedly, noticing that Summer took really small bites, even for a girl.  
  
"You have to eat SOMETHING," Dale insisted, sliding her tray forward. "Here, I don't like the fries anyway."  
  
"I said I'm not hungry," he insisted absently, pushing the tray back.  
  
"Well I said you should eat something," she replied testily, sending the tray back in front him.  
  
"I said no thanks!" he protested, annoyed, as he slid the tray back across the table.  
  
"I don't care!" spat Dale, through gritted teeth, sending the edge of the heavy plastic tray into his stomach. "You need to eat something or you'll get sick."  
  
Conner glared at her, and opened his mouth to reply, but he was beat to it by Pete.  
  
"You three've got last period free, and I've got P.E. We'll blow out of here and hit McJay's. That's less than two hours from now, I'm sure Conner won't die of malnourishment before then," he dictated, sensibly.  
  
Conner and Dale acquiesced, but Summer looked a little hesitant. "McJay's?" she asked. "Is that a restaurant?"  
  
"It's more then a restaurant, it's a subculture," Peter explained. "You'll love it."  
  
  
  
Notes: Okay, no villain in this part, but it just wouldn't fit. Not the most entertaining chapter, but it serves a purpose. I promise it won't be nearly as long between updates next time. I'm sorry it took that long for this but on the upside, you only have make the transition from high school to college once, right? Love and B/A goodness! Send Feedback! 


	6. It's a Subculture

Disclaimer: Guess what? I just heard that all the owners of any rights to Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, and Angel: the Series had a party New Year's Eve, where they showed all the episodes for the past three years, counting down to midnight, since most of the people there had been too busy with other projects to catch any of the episodes for a while. Joss Whedon was especially eager to see how his brainchild had developed. Funny thing is, by six thirty all the guests had committed suicide except for Charisma Carpenter, who was unable to produce any theories as to why such a tragedy occurred. "We were just watching the shows, switching between Buffy and Angel episodes, when all of a sudden Joss started moaning, like he was in pain or something, then he got the blunt spoon.. I don't understand it," was her quote. Anyway, since no one living holds the copyright, I guess I ain't getting sued any time soon, so screw disclaimers!  
  
Author's Notes: Hello again, my darling readers. It's always a pleasure to bring my humble snippets of B/A to the poor, taste- deprived public. I have to say that I admire every single person who had adhered to our ship, even in the face of unspeakable plot twists and the deluge of B/S and A/C fanfiction that has polluted the internet these few years.  
  
I know that you're all loyal and honest, and I trust that you'll do your duty when I tell you that there is a Cordeliaphile in your midst. That's right. I know for absolute certain that at least one A/C fan has been reading this story, and I leave it to you to administer punishment. I've been lenient so far, but how many times can you warn a group off if they're just too stupid to understand that they're not wanted? Please leave suggestions for penalties and pleas for mercy in the review section. I'm sorry you had to hear about this.  
  
Distribution: Send me a link, okay?  
  
Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
Part Six: It's a Subculture  
  
Conner woke reluctantly at the sound of the bell, burrowing his face deeper into his arms for a moment.  
  
Pete placed his math text book calmly into his bookbag, pulled the zipper with a practiced motion and swung the heavy blue canvas bag into the back of his best friend's slumped head. "Come on, we've got a date."  
  
Conner's head jerked up with pain, and he glared at Pete for almost a minute before his words registered. "Oh!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Yes, oh," Pete replied mockingly. "Let's go. Don't want to leave the ladies waiting."  
  
Conner grabbed his unopened book and shoved it into his bag, with a crunch of paper, ran a finger through his thick, disheveled hair and grinned. "Let's go.  
  
"Date, huh?" he mused at the doorway, as an idea formed. "We'll see what we can do about that."  
  
Pete arched an eyebrow but didn't reply.  
  
  
  
Spike woke reluctantly at the sound of a foot hitting his stomach. "Get up," Angel ordered.  
  
The shafts of light from the small window at the top of the basement wall had grown very short, and shadows almost completely covered the room.  
  
"Always were the damndest host, weren't you, Peaches?" began Spike as he pushed himself up onto an elbow, wincing at the pain that shot through his skull. "Haven't you any respect for a hangover?"  
  
"Spike, I have no respect at all for anything pertaining to you," was the frank reply. "Now get up and tell me why you're here so I can throw you out as soon as the sun sets."  
  
"Jolly nice way to treat someone who came here to help you," protested the blonde vampire. "Think I enjoy coming her for this abuse?"  
  
"Excuse me if I doubt the selflessness of your motives. Now talk or I'll throw you out now."  
  
"Nice," Spike muttered again. He sat up to lean his back against the wall as he lit a cigarette. "Heard some news I thought you'd be interested in. Family business. Effects me, too, or I wouldn't bother to care."  
  
"Drusilla." It wasn't a question.  
  
"Give the boy a plushy!" Spike exclaimed sarcastically. "Who else would it be? We three're the only ones left, aren't we?" He took a long drag. "Seems my crazy sire's world tour's brought her back to America. She's gathering muscle. Word is she wants to play happy family again. Whether we like it or not. Now, charming as it would be to spend the rest of my life chained to a wall for bi-daily tea parties with you and Dru - it ranks somewhere between swimming in a pool of holy water and testing out a solar-powered crucifix - I have other plans."  
  
Angel's face was impassive. "Why are you telling me this? Why not just skip the country and let me deal with it myself? What do YOU get out of this Spike?"  
  
"She's my sire, and I'm not strong enough to beat her by myself," Spike admitted after a moment. "I tried once, in Sunnyhell, for - I tried. Couldn't do it. Almost, but almost isn't really good enough odds in our world, is it, now? And since I'm not sure you can either, I figured the two of us together stood a chance."  
  
"I haven't heard anything about Drusilla being in the area. How do I know you're telling the truth? She was never the strategic one. You always did most of her planning for her. If she was coming after me, I'd know about it."  
  
"Don't underestimate her, Peaches. She can cover her tracks if she needs to. She's crazy, not stupid. Dru's been around the block a few times too, and she was trained by the biggest bugger in the underworld." He leveled his blue eyes at the older man as he casually asked his next question. "If Angelus actually gave a sod about our little family, what would be the first thing he'd do to bring us back together?"  
  
"Eliminate anyone who stood in the way," Angel said automatically. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He turned around and tried not to run up the stairs.  
  
  
  
"So this is McJay's," Summer said awkwardly, looking around her.  
  
The room was pitch black at three-thirty in the afternoon. Black spotlights rotated from the many corners of the oddly shaped room, sending the white marble tabletops and checkerboard floor into blinding illumination. Techno and trance music blared from invisible speakers and even though it was the middle of the afternoon, couples were swaying against each other on the dance floor, reflecting more light from the metal accents on their clothes. The menus were shaped like tombstones. Pseudo-Goth Not exactly what she had been expecting.  
  
She took another glance at her new friends, eying them closely. Dale was wearing a pair of normal blue jeans, a retro t-shirt from some nineties rock band. Her hair was all one color, and that looked like a pretty natural brown. Pete also wore jeans, his paired with a blue button down shirt . Conner wore a white t-shirt under a green flannel, also with jeans, though his were more faded than the others. Decidedly retro, but no hint of Satan worshipping tendencies. Summer was wearing a dark green dress with tall brown boots and trendy silver jewelry, her blonde hair gathered loosely at the nape of her neck with an alligator clip.  
  
They looked like cast members of That Nineties Show who'd taken a wrong turn at the studio and ended up on the set of a Kill the Pretty music video.  
  
Conner returned the waves of several dancers as Pete ushered them to their usual table.  
  
"Yep!" Dale yelled over the music, looking as perfectly comfortable with the surroundings as the boys. "Isn't it great?"  
  
Summer struggled for a reply, but was interrupted by the approach of their waitress. She was about nineteen, wearing a black polka-dotted dress that Donna Reid would have approved of. The 50's matriarch's opinion of her citrus orange hair probably would have been a bit less favorable.  
  
"Hey, there," she drawled, flashing a grin Conner's way. "Looking good, as always," she observed.  
  
Conner grinned cheekily, prompting Dale to hit him with a menu. She turned her glare to the waitress. "His ego's big enough, Diane. Why do you keep adding to it?"  
  
Diane laughed easily and poured water into the glasses on the table. She stopped at Summer's glass and looked the younger girl up and down. "Who's the new recruit?"  
  
"This is Summer," Peter announced, sipping at his water. "No lemon?"  
  
"Pete. Every time you have come here, you've asked me for lemon in your water. Every time so far I've told you we only put the lemon in drinks you pay for. Why do you think this time will be any different?"  
  
Conner popped his head up from under the menu Dale was smothering him with. "Because," he chimed. "He knows one of these days you'll succumb to his massive charm and fall at his feet, ready to bring him any fruits, condiments and other foodstuffs he asks you for."  
  
Summer smiled and laughed with the waitress, but Dale dropped the menu, rolling her eyes and Peter smiled coldly. "Forget it," he muttered.  
  
Diane shrugged and took out a blood red notepad. "So are you guys gonna order anything?"  
  
Dale spoke up, asking for burgers, fries and Cokes for all of them.  
  
"Thanks, Mom," Conner mocked her as Diane headed through the blood red door to the kitchen.  
  
"I'm not your mother, Conner. Thank GOD," Dale retorted angrily. She narrowed her eyes at his laughter. "What? You guys always order the same thing and Summer doesn't know what's good, so I saved us all valuable time and got rid of Miss Minute Maid, all in one stroke. You should be thanking me."  
  
"I DID thank you," Conner quipped. "Just kidding, just kidding! Calm down," he placated, holding his hands up in truce. "And I think Diane's hair is cool."  
  
"In a stingy, power-tripping kind of way," Pete agreed sardonically.  
  
"How can hair be stingy?" Summer asked wryly. The four of them looked at each other and laughed.  
  
  
  
"So what do you think?" Conner asked as they paid their bill and left a generous tip - in cash, despite Dale's suggestion of writing her an IOU for a bottle of the non-citrus Clairol color of her choice. "She'd just get purple or something," was Pete's winning argument.  
  
"It was kind of nice. Definitely not the kind of place I pictured you guys hanging out in, though. How did you guys end up hanging out there?" She pulled a loose strand of blonde hair back from her face.  
  
Conner was distracted by the gesture, so it was Dale who answered. "Now that you mention it, I'm not too sure why we started going. Now we've been hanging out there so long it seems natural, but the first time I was pretty freaked out. That was a Friday night, though. You really should ease your way into that. It's way more normal during the afternoon. But. Pete, why did we come here the first time?"  
  
"Conner wanted to," Pete replied, as if that explained everything. "When Conner wants to go somewhere, he whines and bitches until we go."  
  
This got Conner's attention. "I do NOT bitch and whine," he protested, grabbing his friend by the bookbag, and lifting him a couple of centimeters off the ground.  
  
Summer raised her eyebrows at the casual display of strength. "What made you want to go?" she asked him.  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged, putting Pete down. "I heard about it and liked the atmosphere."  
  
"Oh." There wasn't too much more to say about the subject.  
  
"We DO have to take you on a Friday night, though," Dale announced after a moment. Are you doing anything this week?"  
  
"Not really," Summer began.  
  
"Great!" Dale exclaimed. "McJay's for Friday."  
  
  
  
Notes: Hmmm. McJay's on Friday. Angel's son and Co. in a dark club late at night. Sounds safe and happy! Is Dru on the loose, or is Spike scheming? Will they ever find the Slayer? Will Conner ever get to the dentist? What about that field trip I mentioned way back in the first part? When will the Scoobies show up? Well, keep reading and you'll find out. 


	7. Like Pulling Teeth

Disclaimer: See news item in chapter six.  
  
Notes: Well, that A/C shipper has been put to brutal rest, thank the Powers. Still, I get the feeling that their lot's like mosquitoes: every time one flies into the poison strip ten more buzz over to see what's going on. The only thing for it is to put up more fly paper, I suppose. ::sighs as she lays out a fresh batch of anthrax-coated Charisma Carpenter head shots::  
  
Distribution: Contact me about visitation rights.  
  
Inheritance  
  
By Myopic  
  
  
  
Part Seven: Like Pulling Teeth  
  
  
  
Angel rushed into the lobby of the Hyperion hotel doing a complete spin to determine who was there and who was missing. Cordelia was at her desk, the phone at her ear and a copy of the Yellow Pages open before her as she dialed. Gunn and Fred were on the red couch with a stack of dusty books between them and a pair of empty coffee mugs at their feet.  
  
A few steps further into the room revealed a glimpse of Giles and Wesley sitting across from each other in the back office, obviously researching as well.  
  
Fear gripped his throat, so the words sounded a bit strangled. "Where's Conner?"  
  
Five heads snapped up at the unexpected noise.  
  
"It's three o'clock," Gunn answered, checking his watch. "He should be home soon."  
  
Angel looked only marginally less worried.  
  
"What's the worry?" Cordelia asked, putting the receiver down. "It's hours before dark."  
  
"Right." He sighed with relief. "She doesn't do daylight."  
  
Fred, and Gunn, and Cordelia exchanged looks.  
  
"Who doesn't do daylight?" Fred inquired timidly.  
  
"Drusilla."  
  
There was a grim silence.  
  
"What is this, Sweeps Week?" Cordelia exclaimed. "Someone get Darla and the Scoobies and we can have my high school reunion right here."  
  
No one laughed.  
  
"Fine, then. Let's hear it," she sighed.  
  
  
  
"Okay, so we'll meet at seven at Conner's on Friday night," Dale continued, walking backwards down the sidewalk from McJay's.  
  
"Sounds good," Conner agreed, kicking a soda can into the sewer. "Guys?"  
  
Pete nodded, but Summer bit her lip.  
  
"Actually, that might be a problem." She drew in a breath. "God, this is totally embarrassing. My Dad's always been completely overprotective. And with the election coming up and everything he's been even worse than usual, which is like. you have no idea what it's like. If I'm a minute late he thinks I've been kidnapped by terrorists. He calls the cops and his bodyguards, it's so lame. Anyway, he insists on meeting any guys I go out with, even if they're just friends so."  
  
"So we'll meet at your place," Conner supplied, smiling kindly.  
  
She beamed at him and he missed a step, bumping into Dale.  
  
"Watch it," snapped the brunette, stopping to pull out a notebook and pen. "What's your address. Summer?"  
  
She started to write down the directions the other girl dictated, but stopped at as a scribbled note caught her eye. "Conner, don't you have a dentist appointment?" she asked.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I strongly disagree," Giles interjected, pacing the lobby in frustration. "I believe the best way to protect ourselves and Conner is to increase our efforts to find Buffy, not divide them between finding her and Drusilla."  
  
"How do you figure that?" Gunn demanded, scowling at the older man. "We're leaving ourselves wide open if we don't even try to track that maniac down."  
  
"That's right," Fred agreed, standing at her husband's side. "From what I've heard Drusilla's a serious threat. This Slayer's been missing for a while, it won't hurt to wait a little longer to find her."  
  
"I know that she's a threat," explained Giles through clenched teeth. "That's why we need as much backup as we can get. Buffy's the strongest Slayer in history. If anyone has a chance of taking Drusilla down it's her."  
  
Angel frowned. "Not when she was fifteen she couldn't," he said slowly. "Let's face it. We don't know for sure that the new Slayer even IS Buffy. And if Buffy has been reincarnated, there's no telling how much of her skills she's retained. She might not even know how to throw a punch, Giles. She certainly won't have the experience and training twenty year old Buffy had. Add that to the fact that Buffy has never defeated Drusilla either, and I don't think there's any way finding her can be our top priority." He looked down and his next words were very quiet. "You're right about one thing, though. It doesn't make sense to split our resources on two separate searches. The logical thing to do is take care of Dru first, then continue the search for the Slayer."  
  
Giles stared at him for a moment in anger that quickly turned to defeat. "I just don't understand. You of all people should be backing me up."  
  
"I'd like to," Angel said evenly. He met the Watcher's eyes squarely. "But people depend on me. I have to do what's right, regardless of my personal priorities. We simply don't have the manpower for two searches and I have to go with the most urgent. You of all people should understand THAT."  
  
Wesley looked between the two men, frowning. He knew that what Angel said was true, Drusilla had to be taken care of. But at the same time he understood, probably better than anyone, the emptiness a Watcher feels when he no longer has a Slayer to watch over. Even now, after all these years, and despite the fact that he knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent Faith from turning to the dark side - even now he could feel the sense of failure like a scab in the back of his head, buried deeply under all the responsibilities, pleasures and pain of his new life, but there nonetheless. His empathy for the older Watcher picked away at the old wound. There must be some way..  
  
"Angel's right, Giles, we don't have the manpower here to conduct two searches. But it occurs to me that there's an easy remedy for that. I believe Cordelia mentioned something about the Scoobies earlier?"  
  
A light broke over Giles' face and he gave the first approximation to a smile since he'd shown since arrived in L.A. He grabbed the glasses off his face and wiped the lenses excitedly. "Yes, yes of course. That would be the ideal - I'm sure they'd be willing to help. Yes, I'll make the calls." He hurried to Wesley's office, muttering to himself about who he should call first.  
  
Cordelia flashed Wesley a smile before returning to her desk, and Fred's eyes brimmed with tears.  
  
"That was a nice thing, English," Gunn said, clapping a had on the other man's shoulder.  
  
Wesley shrugged it off, embarrassed. "Nonsense, it was the logical solution," he sputtered.  
  
"Let's get back to work, then," Angel announced, his back to them. "I'll see if I can get some more information from Spike."  
  
Suddenly the front door flew open, sending a square shaft of evening light into the lobby. Angel jumped back into the shadow of the staircase as everyone else turned, startled to the intruder.  
  
"SorryI'mLateBeReadyInaMinute," Conner shot over his shoulder as he rushed up the staircase to his room.  
  
Fred rushed over to close the door as a thud and running water could be heard from upstairs. A second later Conner stood before them without his bookbag, his dark hair brushed back and his breath minty from a hasty brushing.  
  
"All right, let's go."  
  
"Go where?" Angel asked from behind his son. Conner jumped, and turned around.  
  
"Jeez, Dad, give me a heart attack, why don't you? Cordy said I have a dentist's appointment today."  
  
"Oh! Duh." Cordelia slapped herself in the forehead and grabbed her purse and keys. "Let's go, we're gonna be late."  
  
"Good luck," Angel called to them before disappearing into the basement.  
  
  
  
Notes: Um. G. A sharp. Pick one you like. 


End file.
